


let me whisper sweet, softly, 'til you see no more

by LittleTayy



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Violence, Manipulation, Marisa is Nasty, Marisa is a Psychopath, Mentions of Infant Death, Or at least she's Very Very Good at pretending to be, So is Asriel but just not as much, lying, mentions of stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22254883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTayy/pseuds/LittleTayy
Summary: The plan had sounded grotesque, even as she'd come up with it. Asriel had thought only as a man, wanting to whisk her away and escape to somewhere abroad before the child was born. Marisa however knew that only carefully crafted lies and deceit would get them awayOr, Marisa and Asriel plan to be together and Edward doesn't find out about Lyra.
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Marisa Coulter/Edward Coulter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 135





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A slight canon divergence wherein, Edward doesn't find out about Lyra and Asriel doesn't kill him to defend his child and home. I've been wondering whether they'd had a plan to pass Lyra off as Edward's child or if they'd had a plan to run away together. This is my short attempt at sorting that out. 
> 
> Warning: This chapter also contains mentions and talk of stillbirth and infant death. If this may be triggering for you, please be wary in reading on.

**One**

* * *

“The child,” Marisa starts, her voice low and deliberately despondent, “he was born still,” she tells Edward, eyes lowered to her hands and voice sounding as slow moving as treacle. 

It is a lie, of course. One that she expertly plays her part in telling as she looks up at her husband, bright blue eyes dull with fake sadness. There are tear tracks on her pale cheeks and her eyes are rimmed red. She is playing numb, disbelieving. As if the reality that she has lost her child has not set in yet. 

But she knows soon, she will have to be the picture model of a distraught childless mother. 

The plan had sounded grotesque, even as she'd come up with it. Asriel had thought only as a man, wanting to whisk her away and escape to somewhere abroad before the child was born. Marisa however knew that only carefully crafted lies and deceit would get them away clean and favourably. 

Even though she knew the plan, had concocted it herself and convinced Asriel; the reality of it had not been what she expected. As soon as she'd held her child, a squirming squalling little thing, still red in the cheek, she had fallen in love in a way she had never felt. Her arms had tightened around her child and she found she suddenly never wanted to let the babe go. Her Monkey had reached out to touch and for once, she had let him, too wrapped up in her own emotions to push him away. 

“Lyra,” she had whispered before handing over her child to her father. “Her name is Lyra,” she’d insisted and she knew Asriel would not fight her on it. Time had, after all, been of the essence. 

Parting from Lyra had been physically painful. The kind of pain she imagined others must feel when separated too far from their daemons. A physical ache had overtaken her and though Asriel had promised that she and the baby would be reunited soon, Marisa almost begged him not to take the child. The Golden Monkey had cried as they’d departed. But it had to be done, the child’s resemblance to Asriel too obvious; so she let Asriel spirit away their daughter under the cover of twilight, just as they'd planned. 

The tears had come, as real as any, on and off in the hours that followed. She’d slept, but only in small increments and by the time her husband had made his way back to London and their home, she had built up her carefully constructed facade once again. The Golden Monkey had fussed and shrieked until she’d wrapped her hand in his fur, nails digging until she could feel the pain on her own flesh. 

It was a small price to pay to keep him in line and to not give away their secrets. 

Her eyes met her husband’s and she watched as the Monkey moved slowly over the bed, towards Edward’s daemon. The Monkey slowly reached out to pet Visalia, smoothing over her ruffled feathers, her beak nuzzling against the Monkey’s head. Edward watched the exchange curiously, brows furrowed; and so Marisa held out a hand to him, letting the tears pool in her eyes deliberately. 

“Oh, Edward,” Marisa murmured, her voice trembling as his hand clasped hers and he sat beside her on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head a little as the words spilled forth, hand trembling in his own. She blinked a few tears away, keeping her eyes closed, she had to be convincing. 

She heard her husband sigh, felt his large hand give hers a squeeze, the other coming up to cup her cheek and wipe away a few spilled tears. She leant into the touch, fluttering her eyes open to look up at him. 

“Where is it?”

“Pardon?” she replied quickly, brows furrowing for a moment. 

“The baby-”

Her lips wobbled then, tears free to spill forth over her pale cheeks. She shook her head, looking up at her husband as if he’d whispered words of heresy. “He-he was so  _ still _ ,” she cried, her voice deliberately and carefully upset. She didn’t want to sound hysterical, not just yet. “And so blue… Oh, Edward!” she wept then, throwing her arms around Edward and burying her face into his chest. 

It was a much more emotional display than Marisa ever truly let herself give but she thought, it was only right given her supposed circumstance. Marisa hoped her Monkey was giving a similarly accurate performance. She was surprised by the firm but tight hug he enveloped her in. She cried against him for another moment more, breath stuttering almost pathetically if it were any other situation, as she pulled back to look at him. 

“The midwife...she took him away. I couldn’t  _ bear _ it Edward, not when you weren’t here,” Marisa stuttered out, voice laced with despair and her hands clutching his crisp three-piece suit tightly. 

Marisa could see the hurt and guilt shining brightly in Edward’s eyes and had to consciously keep a sharp grin from appearing on her face. “I’m sorry, my sweet,” he whispered, voice thick as a hand came up to cup her cheek, a thumb wiping away stray tears. “You must need your rest,” Edward intoned, looking her over pitifully. “Lay down. Sleep,” he insisted, hands guiding her gently but firmly into a supine position. His hand swept over her cheek and hair, touching lightly and tenderly as if he was afraid she might break. It irritated her that he thought her so weak but she let him do it anyway. Now was not the time to argue with him. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead then stood up from the bed, glancing down at her sadly. “I shall take care of everything,” Edward told her with an astute nod. 

Marisa wiped at her wet eyes, taking in a shaky breath and nodding in acceptance. She turned on her side, watching him leave their room and breathed a sigh of relief. As far as she could tell, Edward had believed her story and though acting bedridden and destitute was not her preferred actions, she could deal with it at least until tomorrow. 

Her eyes met her Golden Monkey’s and she could see he was about to say something. She glared until he cowered, she already knew what he was going to say. She’d wondered if letting Edward mourn and make arrangements for a dead child that didn’t exist was cruel; let alone the fact the child she  _ had _ borne wasn’t his. She’d decided however, that the means justified the ends. 

It had to be done. 


	2. Two

**Two**

* * *

It was exceptionally harder than she thought it would be to pretend to be sad and grieving. Only a few days had passed and she was starting to feel restless. She was not used to doing nothing and she was not used to the emotions she was having to portray. It was _tiring_. 

None of that however compared to the fact that she had not seen her child in four days. Her newborn daughter was safely tucked away in a townhouse on the opposite side of London with her father but Marisa longed to have her child in her arms. Her heart still ached at her child being so far away but she knew it was for a good reason. As Asriel had reminded her before he’d left four days ago, they were doing this to keep Lyra safe. 

Her body ached, in the most uncomfortable of ways and she felt utterly unlike herself. The after effects of labor and pregnancy were not something she had been prepared for; it seemed women failed to explain all that happened to their bodies during and after a pregnancy. She supposed if women were honest about what happened to a woman’s body, other young girls and women would never aspire to be mothers. The whole experience was dreadful. 

She felt exhausted and on edge and it didn't help that she had to pretend so much. Her irritability spiked, snapping at Edward much harsher then she ever would have before. Most of the time it was calculated, other times it was because she was in a mood. He simply put it down to the loss of their child and all the other things that happened after pregnancy but it didn't mean that he wasn't hesitant when he strolled through their home to find her in their sitting room. 

“Marisa, my sweet,” Edward started, eyes watching her carefully and curiously. She had, after all, been unpredictable since the loss of their child. He found the behaviour distasteful; but he'd keep that opinion to himself unless she carried on too far. 

“Yes?” Marisa asked, eyes flitting up from the page of the book she was reading, to meet his own. 

She watched as her husband stepped forward and settled himself down on the couch beside her, looking politely grim. It was clear by his actions that this would be a serious talk, so she slipped a bookmark into the pages and closed the book deftly. She focused her attention on Edward, gaze drifting to his daemon that moved solemnly to the edge of the couch. 

“I've made all the arrangements, as I said I would. The funeral shall be tomorrow,” he informed her and Marisa took in a shaky breath. 

The funeral. She had let him plan it, the only thing he seemed to be able to do was take charge and organise. Edward had always been best at taking control and making things happen; it was why he was held in such high regard in the political sphere. His well known need for control would also, ultimately, be his downfall once Marisa had her way. 

She pressed her lips together, looking away from her husband for a moment, feigning sadness. Her fingers worried the corner of the book she had been reading as she nodded. “Of course. Thank you,” she breathed, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, contorting her face into a sad and pitiable expression. 

“There's no need to thank me. He was our child. It had to be done,” Edward replied firmly, a hand coming up to cup her chin. He leant close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I didn’t want you to worry about it, considering all you've been through,” he told her as he pulled away. 

“Yes, with all I went through on my own,” she murmured darkly in reply, glancing away from him once again. 

Edward sighed. “Marisa...I am _sorry_ that I wasn't there,” he started, trying not to let her hear his frustration. 

Marisa pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “Yes, well, sorry doesn't change anything,” Marisa told him quietly, voice cold as ice. “I was all _alone_ and our child was dead,” she insisted, voice catching as she spoke, full of fake emotion. 

She shook her head, slamming the book down on the end table and standing quickly. The moment she'd read that a child’s death could cause a rift between parents and misplaced blame, she'd known _exactly_ what she was going to do. She almost felt _sorry_ for what she was planning to do to Edward. 

“Marisa,” Edward exclaimed, voice sounding rougher then he'd intended she knew. His hand latched around her wrist and pulled her to a stop. The touch surprised her and her mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. It wasn't rough or hard, simply firm; enough for Marisa to know he only meant to stop her, not hurt her. 

However, his intentions didn't matter much to Marisa. Slowly she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. “Let me go,” she snapped, tugging her hand away harshly from his grasp. 

Marisa simply glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and exiting the room. She could hear Edward sigh as she left. Beside her, her Monkey was walking agitated, growling that Visalia had attempted to latch onto him with her claws. 

_I could snap her neck, with ease_ , her Monkey hissed about Visalia as soon as they were out of earshot. Marisa had no cause to disagree, she’d thought of killing Edward herself. 

* * *

The next evening had passed with an almost unbearable tension. By the morning, Marisa could see that Edward was agitated and unsettled; something she found a surprising mix in the man. She watched him keenly as they dressed, moving around each other with the ease of a married couple. At her vanity, she fixed her hair into sedate curls, letting them settle on her shoulders before fixing a veiled beret on top of her head. Her Monkey sat beside her on the velvet stool, eyes watching Edward and his daemon warily. 

“We must go soon,” Edward told her gently, moving to stand behind her as she sat, his hands settling firmly on her shoulders. He gave a soft squeeze. “Are you okay?” he asks her, looking genuinely concerned for her. 

“We are burying our baby, Edward. Do you really think I’m okay?” Marisa sighed, voice high and nearing on hysterical. It was a put on voice, of course. She’d never felt as calm as she was now. 

“No, no. Of course not,” Edward replied with a sigh, shaking his head. His hands stayed on her shoulders though. “I just want to help you, sweetheart. To make sure you’ll be okay,” he insisted, leaning down a little so their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection. 

Marisa scoffed, shaking her head as she pulled out of his grasp and standing up. She heard Edward sigh as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress and plucked her handbag up off the vanity. Her Monkey growled at Visalia as they made their way out of her shared bedroom. 

“A letter arrived for you,” Edward announced as she reached the door. Her brows furrowed and she turned her head back to look at him for a moment, noticing his slightly slumped shoulders and look of consternation. “It’s on the sideboard,” he informed her, straightening his suit and tie. 

She said nothing as she continued on her way out of the room, brows furrowing curiously. She spotted the letter as she moved down the hall, picking it up and turning it over eagerly. The handwriting on the front caught her eye and she knew who it was from. Carefully, Marisa opened the letter, making sure her Monkey served as lookout as she pulled the single slip of paper out of it’s envelope. 

Her smile grew wide at Asriel’s loping, scrawl asking her to meet that very afternoon. He would have Lyra with him and the thought of finally seeing her child once again made her heart race. Being parted from her newborn daughter had been agony and she wanted to go to them that very moment. Unfortunately, Edward was making his way down the hall, eyeing her steadily. 

She slipped the letter back into it’s envelope and then the envelope into her handbag. “Condolences,” Marisa stated before Edward could even begin to ask. “From an old school friend,” she continued, giving him a terse smile. 

Edward simply nodded, making his way over to her and settling his hand on the small of her back, kissing her cheek. It was a bold move, considering she’d been nothing but sharp with him since the day before but Marisa leant into it anyway. She had to create a delicate balance between them and there was no use being needlessly standoffish with him. 

However, she did pull away quickly, giving him a tight smile. Her hand clasped around the delicate white handkerchief she fit into her bag, pulling it out as she dabbed at the corner of her eye, feigning an onslaught of tears. “It’s time, isn’t it?” She murmured, looking up at her husband, her expression full of vulnerability. 

“Yes, it is,” Edward replied, sadly and stoically. He’d spent the past few days being the strong one, not letting the emotion shine through as he took care of her and the funeral arrangements. 

It had only been after his visit to the undertakers, that Marisa had seen him lose his composure. He’d held her close that night, a whiskey attached to his hand, as he sought her comfort after seeing the body of their supposed infant son. Marisa didn’t know _where_ Asriel had managed to find a dead body of a newborn infant and she wouldn’t ask; she was just grateful he’d made it all happen. They’d be burying a baby today, it just wouldn’t be hers _or_ Edward’s. 

The funeral had been sad and short and she’d let Edward name the child. _Alexander Coulter_ adorned the headstone and Marisa realised it was the first time she’d heard the name. Edward had never mentioned it and even while pregnant, he’d not suggested the name Alexander. She grimaced a little, trying not to huff at the fact Edward had not consulted her. It shouldn’t’ve mattered; Alexander Coulter wasn’t _real_. But Edward thought he was and he hadn’t even asked her opinion on the name. 

Marisa however, despite her annoyance, was in her element playing the grieving mother. 

Edward had kept the service small, something Marisa was glad for. Only their closest of friends and associates had attended and all their attention had been on Marisa. She revelled in it, the sad smiles, the tight hugs, the whispered words of condolence. She drew their attention like moths to a flame and held them in a watery, tear-filled court. Edward was grieving too, but a mother not having the chance to _be_ a mother, seemed like the greatest tragedy to their social circle. A few of the wives of Edward’s friends had even told her so. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Sharpton,” Marisa murmured, giving the other wife a sad, tired smile and clasping her hand in thanks. “But, I think I might rest. Today has been...so overwhelming,” Marisa told her, worrying the handkerchief between her hands. 

“Of course, dear. Of course. You go rest. I’ll let Edward know where you’re off too,” Mrs. Sharpton replied sympathetically, jumping at the chance to help in any way. Mrs. Sharpton was the wife of a prominent politician, the former King’s Advisor; a position Marisa had helped Edward steal away from the man. Though they were friendly, there had been an underlying tension between the men ever since. 

“You are too kind, Mrs. Sharpton,” Marisa whispered to her, nodding gratefully. The older woman beamed at the words, patting her shoulder in what she must’ve thought was a friendly gesture, before guiding Marisa away. 

Usually, Marisa would not allow such familiarity unless she initiated it first. But, Mrs. Sharpton was a kind, older woman that simply wanted to help. She was not someone Marisa wanted to alienate. 

With one last grateful smile, Marisa exited the room and made her way down the hallway, glad that the small gathering was contained to the living room only. She plucked her purse from the sideboard and her coat, pulling it on as she headed for the back door. Asriel had asked to meet her and she silently cursed as she realised she was going to be late. Hopefully, her lover wouldn’t see that as a sign that she didn’t want to be with them. He was, after all, famously temperamental.

She snuck around the townhouse, careful not to be seen and down the block quickly before hailing a taxi cab. She gave the driver Asriel’s address, already knowing he’d be at the small home he’d purchased himself years ago, for when he had to be in London. He hated staying in hotels and thought it was the only sensible option. Marisa smiled to herself, heart pounding with excitement at finally being able to see her lover and their child. 

* * *

It felt like only moments hand passed before the taxi was pulling up outside of Asriel’s townhouse home. She paid the driver with ease, giving him a beatific smile as she exited the cab. Smoothing out her coat and dress, she made her way to the front door, glancing around herself cautiously as she knocked. She would never normally be so bold, they were both well known in London society circles, but she couldn’t contain her eagerness. 

The door was pulled open and she half expected it to be Asriel. She shook her head at the thought, smiling at Thorold instead as he let her inside. She moved through the house like she belonged there, which in her mind she did, finding Asriel in his parlour, just where she expected him to be. 

Marisa stopped for a moment in the threshold, watching her lover as he read, Stelmaria lounging contentedly by the fire, slipping her coat off and tossing it on the back of an armchair. The beret she hadn’t bothered to take off was next, dropped onto the side table without care as her eyes remained steady on the man. An unusual warmth filled her, made her heart beat faster as she simply watched him for a moment, leaning against the doorjamb casually. 

Her Monkey made his way slowly into the room, beady dark eyes glancing around as if looking for something. She knew it was Lyra he was looking for and he seemed _disappointed_ when he couldn’t find the child. He slunk over towards Stelmaria, curling up around her with ease. 

“Did you simply come to stare, Marisa?” Asriel’s gruff voice asked her, eyes not looking up from the book in his hands. She could see the smirk on his lips however. 

Marisa let out a light laugh, finally moving further forward into the room. She took her time getting to him, stopping only a few feet away. “If I wanted that, I’d be looking at our child. Where is she? Where is Lyra?” she asked then, a note of longing apparent in her voice. 

Asriel huffed, finally closing the book, deep blue eyes gazing up at her. “She is upstairs, sleeping. The wet-nurse is with her,” Asriel replied, setting the book down beside him, gaze flicking over her with curiosity and amusement. “Is that all you came here for? To see the child?” Asriel asked, the closest hint of a whine in his voice she’d ever heard. 

“Of course,” Marisa quipped back, her smile growing wide and sly. She tilted her head towards the door. “Now go fetch her for me,” she drawled haughtily, eyes glittering teasingly at the man. 

He simply scoffed, reaching a hand out to wrap around her delicate wrist and tug her almost roughly down onto his lap. Marisa laughed, settling comfortably on his lap and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I am not your _man-servant_ ,” he growled, eyes meeting hers as his hand came up to cup her jaw, pulling her into a kiss. 

Marisa moaned happily into the kiss; teeth and tongue tangling with his playfully. She felt his hands move over her body slowly, gripping at her hip and thigh as he deepened the kiss. A groan left her as she pulled away, forehead resting against his, breath heavy as her eyes fluttered open to find his gaze. It had been too long and she wanted him badly, but they couldn’t. 

“It’s still too soon, my love,” she whispered between kisses, lips forming an almost childish pout as she finally pulled away. She was not at all pleased with the after effects of pregnancy. 

Asriel sighed, but said nothing. Leaning back in his chair, he kept her situated on his lap, hands smoothing over the fabric of her dress. His brows furrowed for a moment before his face lit up in amusement; his hand tracing the curve of her hip down to her thigh. 

“Is this the dress you wore to the funeral?” He asked lightly, amusement clear in his tone as he played with the fabric. His gaze flickered across the room to the veiled beret she had been wearing and couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Coming to see me in your funeral attire? How bold. I’m sure Edward found you positively, grief-strickenly beautiful,” Asriel teased, a finger tracing the hemline of her cleavage. 

“Asriel,” Marisa warned, eyes flashing dangerously, hand tugging deliberately at the hair at the base of his neck. 

“Fine, fine. No more talk of Edward,” Asriel acquiesced, giving her a wide smile and pulling her into another kiss, this one sweet and soft. 

A loud cry pierced through the townhouse and Marisa pulled away at once, eyes wide and curious. Asriel sighed, giving her a little grin. “Lyra is awake,” he told her needlessly. 

Marisa sprung up off his lap, her Golden Monkey already across the room and to the door before Asriel or Stelmaria could stand. The Monkey turned to her, eyes eager as Marisa tried to keep her calm facade in place. It wasn’t working however, she wanted to see her daughter. 

“I’ll show you to her nursery,” Asriel said, finally moving and guiding her out of the parlour and up the stairs with a secure hand on the small of her back. The touch was casual and familiar and though many men had performed the gesture on her, only Asriel ever truly guided her. 

They hastened up the stairs and Marisa could hear a woman’s voice, presumably the wet-nurse, coming from one of the rooms. She turned there, pushing the door open with ease, a smile blooming on her face as she finally saw her daughter. Lyra was on a changing station, the nurse fastening a new cloth nappy around her and Marisa couldn’t believe how _big_ Lyra looked compared to when she had given her over to Asriel. 

Her heartbeat pounded thunderously and her Monkey jaunted through the room, swinging himself up to the changing table to gaze down at the child and her daemon in awe. The Monkey startled the nurse but she quickly recovered, redressing Lyra and picking her up to cradle in her arms. Turning, Marisa could see that the nurse was surprised by her presence and that of Asriel. 

“Miss Connors,” Asriel started, voice deep and authoritative. “We shall attend to Lyra, now. You may go,” he told the young woman, who if Marisa had to guess, was about her own age. The nurse looked unsure, brows furrowed as she glanced down at Lyra then back up to Asriel. It became clear to Marisa then, that he had not spent much time with Lyra in the first few days of her life. 

Marisa frowned at her lover for a moment before focusing her attention back on her child. Her smile grew wide and genuine as she stepped forward, reaching her arms out for the babe, almost snatching her out of the nurses’ hands. She didn’t even bother to look at the other woman, focused solely on her daughter. She was besotted. 

“Oh, it’s been _torture_ being apart like this,” Marisa murmured, the moment the nurse had left the room and Asriel had shut the door behind her. 

She cradled Lyra tightly to her chest, arms and hands holding her secure and tight. Behind her, on the table, the Golden Monkey and Pantalaimon were a mirror image of Marisa and Lyra. The sight was almost too odd to gaze at. 

“My darling little Lyra,” Marisa started, thumb stroking over her child’s baby soft cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you. But, it will be just the three of us before you know it. I promise,” she whispered, filling with delight when Lyra’s eyes opened and she saw her dark irises for the first time. Her eyes were just like her father’s. 

“She is a fussy little thing,” Asriel spoke up, from his position leaning against the door. He was watching them curiously, almost as if he didn’t understand what was happening. “Maybe she just wants her mother,” he mused, chuckling a little. 

Marisa looked up at him, shaking her head. She looked stricken for a moment. “Don’t say that Asriel,” she murmured, thinking of her plan and the time it would take for her to get away from her husband. She couldn’t be sloppy about it but oh, how she wanted nothing more than to forget Edward and run away with Lyra and Asriel to some far off land. It was a dream and a delightful one; but she wasn’t prepared to have her own reputation ruined, not when the power and reputation Asriel could provide her were so much _more_ then Edward could ever have hoped. 

“When shall you see her again?” He asked, stepping in beside her and settling an arm around her waist. He gazed down at their daughter in Marisa’s arms, a small smile coming to his lips as Marisa rocked her. The question had been about Lyra but they both knew he was asking when **he** would see her again. 

Marisa sighed, shaking her head and finally looking up at Asriel for the first time since entering the room. Her eyes met his and her lips pursed. “I’m afraid it shall have to be a while yet. You know that we can’t risk being caught, not now that she’s born,” Marisa told him, voice smooth and sweet. “You should go ahead, to your estate outside Oxford. I need to be focused, Edward’s ruination won’t be easy,” she murmured, her eyes finding his. “You and Lyra here, in London, will be much too much temptation for me.”

Asriel sighed but he knew it was the truth. If Marisa was to succeed, he and Lyra needed to be out of sight and out of mind. He didn’t like it, yet if it meant they could be together properly, he would do it. 

“Alright,” he nodded, hand tightening on her waist. “Two days and Lyra and I shall be in Oxford,” Asriel told her, whispering against her ear. He brought his hand up, finger delicately caressing Lyra’s nose as she looked up at them, wide eyed and curious. “She looks like you, you know,” he told her, sounding oddly and uncharacteristically sentimental. 

Marisa simply laughed, genuine and musical. She had been thinking the exact same thing about him and Lyra. 

* * *

It was dark as Marisa finally made her way inside the home she shared with her husband. The townhouse was quiet and immediately, Marisa knew she had pushed her luck that evening. She had no doubt that her husband would be questioning her whereabouts but it had just been so hard to tear herself away from Lyra. 

She pulled off her coat and placed her purse down on the entry table, strolling further into her home, waiting for Edward to appear. It didn’t take long but she was surprised by the anger she could see on his face. She had been expecting worry, perhaps exasperation but certainly not anger. It took a lot for Edward to become angry and she’d only seen it happen a few times in their marriage.

“Where have you been Marisa?” He asked, his dark eyes pinning hers. 

Marisa sighed. “I simply needed some space and some air,” she told him, not backing down from his gaze. 

She swept passed him into the living room, her eyes carefully perusing the room, surprised to see an almost empty decanter of liquor. The colouring, and her husband’s tastes, told her it was most probably scotch. Her brows furrowed, he didn’t usually drink scotch on his own and she wondered if he’d started while they still had guests. It certainly wasn’t like him to drink so heavily and with people around. 

“You’ve been gone almost four hours, Marisa,” Edward continued, Visalia creeping closer and closer to the Golden Monkey, wings fluttering agitatedly. 

The Monkey sneered at Edward’s daemon, tiny black fingers flexing in anticipation. He was ready to attack and so was Marisa. She spun around, eyes locking with his and head tilting upwards as she spoke. 

“Have you been drinking, Edward?” Marisa asked, tone sickly sweet and smooth as honey. A note of disapproval dropped into her voice as she shook her head. 

Her husband scoffed, frowning. “Marisa…” her husband started, taking a step closer to her but not reaching out to touch her. 

“I wasn’t gone that long, you see,” Marisa continued, as if he hadn’t even spoken, head tilting as she made eye contact with the man. “Maybe the drinks muddled up your memory,” she suggested, nodding encouragingly. 

“Enough!” Edward spat, glaring at Marisa now. “I know my mind perfectly well. Anthony’s wife said you’d gone to lay down. You haven’t been here for _hours_ ,” Edward insisted, lips pursed angrily. She had been gone almost four hours, surely, Edward thought, she couldn’t think she could hide that. “So where were you?” he blustered, thinking he’d caught her in some kind of lie, though he didn’t know of what kind. 

Marisa sighed, suddenly annoyed by his lack of co-operation. For a man that had, almost certainly, drunk a whole decanter of scotch to himself, he was stubbornly seeing sense. Maybe manipulation and charm was _not_ the way to go that night. 

“I had to get out of this house,” her tone turned cold, her eyes hard as she met his gaze once again. “Away from _you_.” 

Edward’s brows furrowed and he looked at her with wide, alarmed eyes. “What?”

“I _asked_ you not to go away,” Marisa started, voice pitching high and bordering on hysterical. “I told you something didn’t feel right, that I was worried! You said everything would be fine. That I was just _overthinking_ it,” she hissed, lips forming into a snarl as her Monkey swiped at Visalia for getting too close. If Edward wanted a fight, she would give him one. 

“Marisa...I couldn’t have known! Neither of us could have known he would be stillborn,” Edward snapped back, almost gasping at the sudden change in his wife. He wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her; make her see it was the grief talking, that neither of them were to blame. He had to believe neither of them were to blame. 

Marisa glared, taking a step closer and meeting his eyes. “You are the reason our son is **dead** . It is _your_ fault,” Marisa said slowly and calmly, her tone ice cold and cruel. 

The words were unnecessarily cruel and Edward felt the anger bubble up inside him. Marisa was not the only one grieving about their child and to blame him? It was too much. Before he could think about what he was doing, he’d struck Marisa with the back of his hand; Visalia’s beak pecking at the Golden Monkey’s face at the same time. 

Marisa gasped, eyes going wide in shock; her Monkey screeching with anger. A hand covered her warm, stinging cheek and as she sneered, she felt a pinprick of pain across her lip. Frowning, she pressed her fingers to her bottom lip gently, cautiously, feeling her lip wet and tender. She pulled her hand away quickly, eyes finding the bright red spots of blood on her fingertips with surprise. Edward had struck her and his ring had left a visible mark. 

And, _oh_ \- he had just given her the perfect ammunition. 

The curving, shark-like smile that adorned her lips and the dark sparkle in her eyes, frightened Edward as she turned to look at him and for the first time in their marriage, he could see her true nature.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it good? Debatable. But let me know what you think anyway!
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains mentions of child death and implications of domestic violence. If these things trigger you or make you uncomfortable, please do not continue to read.

**Three**

* * *

Sitting down at her vanity, Marisa looked at herself carefully in the mirror, examining her features. There was a slight bruise low on her cheek and the split lip looked angry, red and raw. She poked at it lightly with her fingertips, her Monkey sitting on the vanity and watching her intensely. From the corner of her eye, she could see Edward making his way back into their bedroom; stopping at the sight of her in the mirror. 

She looked at him through the reflection of the mirror, watching as his eyes traced over her features, almost smirking when she sees him cringe as he lingers on the split lip. Guilt is plain on his face and he looks away quickly, adjusting his suit and Marisa decides she can’t let him get away that easily. So she turns on the velvet stool, hair not yet done and pooling around her face and shoulders, framing her features beautifully as she looks up at him. 

“Edward,” she calls out to him, low and soft, a tone of hesitance in her voice. 

She watches Edward tense with a thrill before he turns to look at her. Her eyes are wide and her head is tilted slightly, her Monkey sitting mildly behind her, head cast down. She knows she looks the picture of an innocent, soft wife putting herself below her husband. It is _not_ a position she is used to taking with Edward but it is necessary. She’d slipped the night before and she’d seen the realisation in Edward’s eyes; she needed to draw him back in, lull him back into a false sense of security. 

“Yes?” Edward replied evenly, looking at the mirror behind her. The fact he could not look her in the eye pleased her beyond belief. He was feeling guilty, his action the previous night was haunting him and Marisa couldn’t believe how perfectly everything had happened. It had taken all her restraint not to rejoice. 

Her hands came together on her lap, clasping together gently, fingers fiddling with her wedding bands. She took a breath, glancing up at him through her lashes as she finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” Marisa told him sedately, “I should never have spoken to you that way,” she continued, letting out a sigh. Her eyes were on his face and she could see the conflict he was having; it had always been far too easy to manipulate Edward. 

Edward huffed uncomfortably. Apparently, his wife apologising after he’d struck her, was not sitting well with him. Marisa had predicted as much, which was exactly why she was doing it. If he was going to strike her, she was going to summon every ounce of guilt out of him that she could. 

“Don’t, Marisa,” Edward replied carefully, taking a few steps closer to her, his eyes widening in alarm as Marisa deliberately tensed at his physical presence. 

Visalia squawked, fluttering around to perch on the opposite side of the room. Her Monkey’s beady black eyes watched intensely, teeth baring slightly as Edward moved closer. 

“Please, don’t apologise. It...it was a tough day yesterday. I never should’ve acted the way I did either,” he murmured, moving to sit down on the stool beside her. 

Marisa pressed her lips together, looking away from him as he sat, brows furrowing a little, wondering what he’d do. She was surprised when his hand came up to gently cup her cheek, thumb smoothing lightly over the cut on her bottom lip. The touch almost made her jump, her eyes finding his with curiosity, wondering just what he thought he was doing. 

“ _I_ am sorry, Marisa,” he whispered to her, his eyes finding hers for the first time since he’d walked into their bedroom. Although, what he was sorry for he dared not say out loud. 

A deliberate sigh left her, a hand coming up to wrap around his, still holding her cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispered, voice velvety smooth as she leant into him, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss. “I forgive you,” she murmured as she pulled back, a single finger stroking down his cheek gently. 

She ignored the sneer on the Golden Monkey’s face as she pulled away from Edward and turned back towards the mirror. In her peripheral, she saw him stand up and smooth out his suit, moving towards their closet, no doubt in search of a tie. She turned her head, to glance over her shoulder at him as she spoke. 

“It is lucky I have no engagements today,” she calls to him, voice sweet and musical, as if they were talking about something trivial. “Don't you think?” 

Edward freezes for only a moment in the threshold of the walk-in wardrobe and Marisa grins wildly at his back. He exhales and continues on, ignoring Marisa. It is all amusing to Marisa and she has to remind herself that she couldn't get swept up in the pleasure of playing these games with Edward. 

If she got reckless or careless, it would be the end of her.

* * *

Marisa spent the morning going over her research notes, thankful that Edward was back to work. She’d spent the days between giving birth and attending the funeral doing basically nothing. It had been the hardest few days of her life; she was never not doing something and even more so when she’d felt she was so close to a break in her research. If only she had access to Asriel’s books and notes. She sighed, pushing the thought away. She couldn’t think about Asriel, it would only lead to her longing to see her lover and their child. 

Her mind had also been on how she could use Edward’s act against him. He’d given her an almost perfect gift to destroy his reputation and standing with; her only problem was how to make it known. She supposed she could go out but that felt like an almost too deliberate act. 

She sighed, sipping her chocolatl when an idea dawned on her and for once, her Monkey seemed as on board with the idea as she was. With a grin, she sent off a telegram, inviting Mrs. Sharpton to afternoon tea, that very afternoon. 

* * *

The door bell rings and Marisa takes a breath, arranging her hair around her face _just so_ , exhaling before smiling gently. She turns and heads towards the front door, pulling it open slowly, head turned to the side to apparently hide her split lip. The Golden Monkey is sitting sedately by her feet, looking curiously at Mrs. Sharpton’s daemon. 

“Mrs. Sharpton, hello,” Marisa greets gently, looking at the other woman for only a moment before glancing down again and stepping aside, to let her guest in. 

“Marisa, dear. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure if you would be seeing people but I’m glad to be able to check up on you after yesterday,” Mrs. Sharpton replied thoughtfully, she and her daemon stepping inside. 

Marisa closed the door behind her before turning to face her properly, lips pressed together as the older woman turns to look at her fully. She bites the inside of her lip as she see’s Mrs. Sharpton’s eyes go wide, no doubt noticing her lip for the first time. She prepares herself for a barrage of questions as she takes the other woman’s coat and hangs it up but is surprised when the other politician’s wife, says nothing. 

“Shall we have some tea?” Marisa suggests softly, leading the other woman into the sitting room where the tea is already set up. “I wanted to say thank you for yesterday. You were...so kind,” Marisa tells her, giving her a sweet smile. “It was a terribly hard day. For the both of us.” 

She picks up the teapot and pours out both their drinks, three sugars in her own and milk in Mrs. Sharpton’s. She hands it over delicately as she sits down on the same couch as Mrs. Sharpton, her Golden Monkey curled around her feet, almost as if he’s hiding from the other woman. Marisa resists the urge to smirk at how perfectly he is playing it. 

“I can’t even _imagine_ ,” Mrs. Sharpton replies after taking a sip of her tea. “And at such a young age… But, you have many more child bearing years ahead of you,” she continued and Marisa nodded, smiling as if she was grateful for the words. 

She took a sip of her tea, wincing a little as the hot water stung at her lip, something she hadn’t planned. She swallowed, then placed the tea down; she could sense Mrs. Sharpton watching her. 

“What happened dear?” Mrs. Sharpton asked softly, after a moment. Her own tea was placed down on the table and she was watching Marisa hawkishly. It was clear the other woman was talking about her lip and Marisa turned to her, giving her a small smile, shaking her head. 

“Like I said, it was a hard day for us,” Marisa told her, fingers spinning her wedding bands as she looked away from Mrs. Sharpton, letting the older woman draw her own conclusions. She heard a sharp intake of breath from the other woman and knew immediately that she’d hooked her. 

“Marisa, dear. Did...Edward do that to you?” Mrs. Sharpton asked carefully, curiously. 

Marisa took a moment, as if she was thinking about it, before turning to look at Mrs. Sharpton properly. Her eyes found the other woman’s, grateful for her ability to cry on cue as tears pooled in her eyes. She nodded slowly, as if she was ashamed by the whole debacle. 

“Yes,” Marisa whispered, hands pressing together as if in worry. The most perfect thing about it, was that she wasn’t even lying. She shook her head then, as she looked back up at Mrs. Sharpton. “But...it wasn’t really his fault. The stress and grief-” she started, but her guest cut her off. 

“Nonsense, Marisa. That is no excuse,” Mrs. Sharpton insisted, her brows furrowed and her cheeks ruddy as she reached a hand out to take Marisa’s, giving it a squeeze. “You are grieving too! You just buried your baby…” 

“I know. But he apologised, Mrs. Sharpton. I know he didn’t want to hurt me,” Marisa told her, voice light and high, trying to sound as innocent as she could. 

“Has he done this before, dear?” Mrs. Sharpton asked, frowning as she kept a hold of Marisa’s hand, as some sort of gesture of comfort. 

“Well…” Marisa glanced away, lips pressed together for only a moment before letting out a slight chuckle. She glanced back over at Mrs. Sharpton, the tears she’d conjured spilling only a few at a time. “I was married so young, you know? I suppose I didn’t know any better,” Marisa murmured to the other woman, all but saying what she wanted to hear, the implication clear; though it was a lie. 

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Sharpton exclaimed lowly, shaking her head and pulling Marisa into a hug. She tensed at first, not used to someone else initiating such contact, but relaxed into it. She knew Mrs. Sharpton had been the perfect person to reveal this to. She had no doubt that by the end of the week, this little bit of gossip would be all over London society. 

A person’s reputation in this world was the only thing they had and Edward’s was about to be in shambles. 

* * *

The next two weeks of Marisa’s life seemed to move along as if in a blur. Edward’s indiscretion spread through their circle of friends quickly, Anthony Sharpton and his wife taking full advantage of her supposed situation, just as she expected they would. The King’s Advisor was supposed to be a man of impeccable morals and values; murmurs of him being violent and possessive were damaging in the most delicious of ways. 

The tension had sky-rocketed in the Coulter home and Marisa had never felt more in control. Even more so with what she’d just set in motion. 

“Marisa! What have you _done_?!” Edward bellowed as he strode through their home, heading straight for the parlour where he assumed she would be. 

As he turned into the parlour, Marisa could see that he was angry but his anger quickly dissipated to shock and Marisa had to hide her smirk. Beside her, Mr. and Mrs. Sharpton and on the other side, a Magisterium Inquisitor and Father MacPhail. She turned her eyes downward, inhaling sharply as she pressed her hands together, putting on a show for their four guests. 

Mrs. Sharpton reached out to settle a hand on her back, rubbing encouragingly and Marisa sighed before lifting her head, to finally look her husband in the eyes. He looked furious but confused, though he was trying his best to calm himself. It delighted Marisa that Edward had helped bury himself so wonderfully, she had never expected him to actually hit her. The whole thing had fallen perfectly into place; it was almost too good to be true. 

It was clear that their guests were for a very specific reason and Edward felt _sick_ at the knowledge that they thought he harmed his wife; that he wasn’t fit for his position. Though it may have been the wrong thing to think of, in the moment, the thought of losing his position as King’s Advisor worried him more than anything else. Marisa and his marriage were merely beyond saving, he could see that now. 

“Edward,” Marisa started, her voice light and sweet. Her eyes met his and she kept her expression worried and cautious. “I haven’t done _anything_ ,” she told him, shaking her head a little. She pressed her lips together in a picture of nervousness and turned to glance at the Sharpton’s, who looked at her encouragingly. She had to admire their willingness to manipulate marital discord for their own purposes. If she weren’t manipulating them right back, she might’ve courted with the idea of befriending them for real. 

“Edward, I think it’s best you sit down,” Mr. Anthony Sharpton suggested, taking a step forward and engaging with Edward as if he was an old friend, simply there to help. 

A thunderous expression crossed her husband’s features and she held her breath, wondering if her husband would do something stupid. She hoped he would, if only to make her case against him stronger. But, Edward was smart, it was one of the reasons he had appealed to her so much. Unfortunately, he nodded stoically and with a quiet huff, sat down on the armchair opposite Marisa. 

“What is going on?” He asked, flicking his gaze around the people in the room before settling on Marisa, his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what she was playing at. 

Instead of Marisa answering however, it was Father MacPhail that spoke. He looked considerably unimpressed by being there and by the whole situation. Marisa wasn’t sure if he always looked that way or if it was just being there, in their home. 

“It has come to the Magisterium’s attention, that an incidence of violence has occurred, within the home,” MacPhail spoke stolidly, keeping his expression unmoved. “Considering your position, we thought it best to undertake this as quietly as possible.”

Marisa ducked her head once again, her hands in her lap and her fingers twisting her wedding bands in a nervous gesture that everyone in the room could see. Mrs. Sharpton’s hand fell to her forearm then, giving a gentle squeeze that Marisa knew was supposed to be reassuring. Her Golden Monkey sat on the back of the couch, as if hiding away, peaking out over her shoulder in a faux pose of nervousness. 

Edward shook his head. “That’s not what happened,” Edward insisted, brows furrowed and a spark of panic in his eyes. 

“Well,” Marisa interrupted, before he could say anything else. “That’s not exactly _true_ Edward,” she continued, sounding almost indignant as her voice wobbled only slightly. 

“Marisa,” Edward breathed, shifting in his seat, angry and uncomfortable. Being questioned in his own home did not sit well with him, especially when his viper of a wife was at the centre of it. 

“Don’t lie, Edward. You did hit me,” Marisa insisted, her voice swelling with emotion. She glanced at Mrs. Sharpton for a moment before turning back towards Edward. “I had the mark of it for days,” she continued, lifting her hand up and fingers lightly ghosting over her bottom lip. It was almost completely healed now, if a little tender still. 

Tears pooled in her eyes, her lips trembled slightly, her breathing was deliberately fast. 

Marisa was a picture of upset and Edward didn’t know what to do. His gaze moved around the room, shame overcoming him as he looked towards Mr. and Mrs. Sharpton and worry engulfing him as he looked towards Father MacPhail and the Magisterium officer. The feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach from the moment Marisa had turned to him after he’d hit her, had come back full force. 

“Marisa...you know how sorry I am,” Edward told her, wanting to save some kind of face. It didn’t occur to him that he’d just admitted his guilt. “We had just buried our child! I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

But Marisa simply shook her head, lips pressing together for a moment to hide the smile that threatened to bloom across her features. She glanced over at Father MacPhail then, who still looked undeterred and expressionless. Though, he noticed, MacPhail did sigh. 

“Mr. Coulter, grief is a powerful thing we understand. However, this accusation is very serious and the Magisterium takes these matters very seriously too. Which is why we will be conducting this...investigation for your wife’s petition thoroughly,” MacPhail told him seriously, what seemed to be disappointment and disapproval in his eyes. 

Edward frowned, glancing between MacPhail and Marisa. “Petition?” He asked, his body suddenly tense. 

Marisa nodded hesitantly, inhaling then exhaling as she found his eyes again, her expression one of upset. “Yes. I’ve petitioned the Church for a divorce,” Marisa told him softly, as if she were worried and scared about what he’d do. 

This hadn’t been her _original_ plan but his anger had presented an even better opportunity to rid herself of him. One that she wasn’t going to squander. Her new life with Asriel and Lyra were waiting for her and she was almost giddy with the anticipation. Soon, Edward would be out of her life forever and he wouldn’t have the power anymore to do anything about it.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this will probably seem too neatly tied up and sweet but I wanted Edward's POV at some point. The epilogue seemed like the perfect way to do it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please review. :)

**Epilogue**

* * *

Edward didn’t know how it had happened or how she had done it, but within two months of their child dying, Marisa had ensured that he lost his position as King’s Advisor and that they’d be granted a divorce. Divorce was a  _ rare _ occurrence in society and the Magisterium took it very seriously. He’d tried to defend himself against the accusations that he had been violent with Marisa, that he controlled her but he could never deny that he had, in fact, struck her the night of their child’s funeral. All sorts of accusations had swirled around him then, about what kind of man he was and whether he was fit for his position; his reputation had been effectively torn to shreds.

The Magisterium had taken that one fact and used it to paint a rather horrid but undeniable picture of his marriage to Marisa. He knew she was behind it, that she was feeding them lies and mistruths, all to get what she wanted. Despite knowing it was Marisa’s doing, Edward Coulter still didn’t quite understand the  _ why _ of what she had done. He had  _ never  _ touched her in anger before that night and had thought they had a good marriage and that she had been happy; it had started to feel as if he’d never known Marisa at all. 

It had been three, almost four, long and lonely years since their divorce and though Edward had been a man of good standing before, he’d had to rise through the ranks once again. Not many people in London Society wanted to be associated with a man that had apparently used to strike his young wife. He wasn’t the first to do it, he knew that, but Marisa had made sure it’d turned into a newsworthy scandal. Former friends and colleagues were hesitant to be associated with him, even still. 

To keep his sanity, he’d steadfastly refused to hear any news of his young ex-wife. Though he couldn’t prove it, Marisa had orchestrated his ruin; he could feel it in his very bones. It had been easy to ignore her presence as he’d ventured out of London and even out of Brytain for several years. But he was back now and had been for almost 6 months, working for the Magisterium. 

As it was, it was a beautiful Saturday; the sun out and shining down creating a pleasant warmth, as he settled himself on a bench in the park. His social engagements, even after working his way back into the Magisterium were scarce and so he took to spending his time in various parks or visiting museums. It was a mostly lonely life, broken up by the occasional visits of his family but they were few and far between. 

He was distracted from his newspaper by the shouts of a child. He frowned, glancing up for a moment before his eyes found the source of the noise. A young girl, dark haired and about four years old was attempting to climb up upon the brick fence that surrounded the park, her daemon in the form of a dull, rust coloured monkey. The sight of the monkey daemon made him cringe. 

_ “Mama, Papa! Watch!” _ the child called out again, her face bright and mischievous, full of wild youthful exuberance that none of the other children in the park seemed to have. He shook his head in disdain at the little ragamuffin, glancing around for her clearly absent or uncaring parents. Though the child was dressed in fine clothes, he couldn’t believe anyone of  _ class _ would allow their child to run wild as this one was. 

_ “Lyra!” _ The woman’s voice sent a shock through him. His eyes narrowed as the woman came into view, a frown on her still young and beautiful face, heading straight for the climbing child.  _ “Get down from there,”  _ she hissed and Edward was stunned for a moment.

Marisa, his former wife, was there in the flesh, only a few metres in front of him. It was the first time he’d seen her in almost four years and Edward wasn’t sure how to feel. He didn’t catch what the little girl said but he couldn’t help keeping his eyes on Marisa and the child in curiosity. 

His brows furrowed as he watched them; the girl was surely no older than four. She couldn’t truly be Marisa’s child, she would’ve had to have fallen pregnant almost immediately after they’d lost their child. It made no sense and then a figure appeared beside them. 

Edward startled as he recognised the man that was now standing next to Marisa, his snow leopard daemon prowling around beneath the child. Lord Asriel Belacqua looked out of place in the sunny London park, even with Marisa and the child beside him. He watched as the younger man’s hand settled on Marisa’s back for a moment, as the pair murmured to each other. 

Curious eyes watched then, as Lord Asriel advanced on the child, who was kicking her legs against the brick from the top of the fence, her daemon now a wildcat. He held his breath for a moment, worried about what was to happen as Lord Asriel’s hands clasped around the girl. His brows furrowed deeper as he heard the delighted laugh that came from the little girl. 

_ “Papa! Put me down!” _ the girl squealed, wriggling and squirming and kicking her legs playfully in the air until Lord Asriel did indeed plant her firmly on the ground. 

He watched as Marisa huffed, though he could see amusement on her features and knelt down to the child’s level.  _ “Lyra, you can’t just run off and climb things,” _ Marisa insisted, her hands moving over the child to wipe away the dirt and debris off the girl from climbing.  _ “You could’ve hurt yourself.” _

_ “She’s my little monkey,”  _ he heard Lord Asriel tease, surprised at the smirk he could see on the younger man’s face.  _ “Just like her Mama.” _

He watched then, surprised as Marisa turned to glare up at him, almost playfully. The little girl followed her lead, mirroring her action and facial expression. If Edward didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the girl really was Marisa’s flesh and blood. 

Marisa just shook her head, standing up and taking hold of the girl’s hand.  _ “We’ll miss the airship,”  _ he heard her say, turning them towards the entrance of the park.  _ “We better go.”  _ With that, Marisa lead them away, barely glancing in his direction which Edward realised he was thankful for. 

As Edward watched the family depart the park, the thing that had been bugging him, finally fell into place. The girl was almost a miniature version of Marisa; her hair, her cheeks, her eyes. And on closer inspection of Lord Asriel, he could see his features mixed perfectly with Marisa’s in the child. 

It felt almost like a holy revelation as it all came together. 

The baby had never died. The baby hadn’t been a boy. The child was never his.


End file.
